Master of Smoke Read Free Page B

her hair and dragged her head back down so he could kiss her some more, his mouth surprisingly gentle despite its searing heat.
    With a heroic effort of will, Eva jerked back far enough to talk. “We can’t,” she gasped in desperation against TDN’s hot, soft lips. “We’ve got to get out of here. When that werewolf comes to, he’s gonna eat us. That happened to me once, and believe me, it’s not fun.”
    The purr cut off, and TDN stiffened against her. “You are right. We must leave.”
    “I’ve got a car.” She dragged herself off him despite the protests of her lust-crazed body. “Right over here.”
    “Good.” He rose easily to his feet as she scrambled to hers. “We will go to your home, away from my enemy.”
    “Yeah, I’ve got an apartment a few miles away. We’ll be safe there.”
    He nodded, flicking a long lock of silken black hair over his shoulder. “Yes. Then we can have sex.”
    Eva stopped and stared at him. He was easily six-four or -five and built like an NFL quarterback, all broad shoulders and long legs, power and speed in one yummy package. He had hair like the hero of an eighties’ Native American romance, long and straight, reaching halfway to his waist. The bone structure of his face was stark and sharply chiseled, with a broad, square jaw, a generous Roman nose, and a sensual mouth that definitely knew its way around female real estate.
    Actually, sex with him sounded pretty good.
    The heat abruptly drained from his eyes, replaced by confusion. “Who are you?” He looked a little lost. “I know I want you, but I don’t know who you are.”
    Oh, now that was flattering. “I’m Eva Roman. And a werewolf wants to eat us, so we really need to go.”
    “Yes.” He squared those amazing shoulders. “That I remember.”
    “Good. My car is that way. You go. I’ll follow along when my ego stops twitching.”
    “What? I don’t ...” He blinked at her, still white around the mouth.
    She sighed. “Come on.”
     
    They called her La Belle Coeur. It wasn’t her real name, but after so many centuries, that scarcely mattered. She was Belle even in her own thoughts now.
    Davon’s cock felt like a length of stone, thrust to the balls inside her as he rolled his hips, grinding deep. She braced her palms on the hard rise of his muscular chest as she rode him at a fast, hard jog. Belle always made a point of being on top the final time. It was safer if things went wrong.
    His velvety skin looked as dark as expensive chocolate under her pale hands, striking and beautiful. Davon was a handsome man, with his high, stark cheekbones, full mouth, and broad, regal nose. At thirty-three, he was no boy, yet he seemed very young to her. They were all young to her, unscarred and innocent in a way she hadn’t been a long time.
    A stinging pulse of power suddenly rolled from the soles of her feet to the top of her head, and Belle shuddered. Her magic was gathering, preparing to trigger Merlin’s Gift, buried deep in Davon’s DNA.
    Triggering the Gift was a court seducer’s job, and Belle hated it. Unfortunately, she was also a very good court seducer, and her sense of duty was too acute to permit her to quit. Still, it hurt, and the effort reminded her far too much of giving birth. Which in a way, she was.
    Like giving birth, it was dangerous for them both. If she’d misjudged Davon, if the Majae’s Council had erred in sending her to him, he could kill her.
    If he got very, very lucky. More likely she’d kill him, as she’d killed sixteen of her Latent lovers over the past thousand years. She loathed killing, and every one of those boys haunted her, but none of them had given her a choice. The Gift brought insanity to those not strong enough to handle it. Usually she could spot the ones who were too weak to make the transition, but everyone made mistakes.
    Belle didn’t think she was making one now, though. Davon was as intelligent and determined as he was handsome. Which was no surprise: